


Impetuous

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Sasameki Koto
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fireworks, First Dates, First Kiss, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Things are not going exactly as Sumika planned." Sumika takes Kazama out for Christmas Eve and finds some benefits to spontaneity.





	Impetuous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluenarcbird](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bluenarcbird).



Things are not going exactly as Sumika planned.

She probably should have anticipated that. With no less than six separate pieces to her plan for the evening it was all but inevitable that at least one of them was going to go awry; with her demonstrated lack of luck when Kazama is involved, she would have counted herself lucky if even one had turned out as she intended. But the night is well over half over, and thus far not a single detail has been as she hoped it would be.

They didn’t have a good start. Sumika was supposed to meet Kazama at her house to start the evening with a cup of tea and a Christmas Eve visit with Kazama’s brother; ‘like old times,’ Kazama had said, with enough fondness on her voice that Sumika hadn’t had the heart to tell her that what Kazama recalls with pleasure carries an ache of pining in Sumika’s memory. But there’s no need to hurt over that now, not with all the glowing title of  _ girlfriend _ so clear in Sumika’s mind she thinks sometimes it must hang like a banner over her head everywhere she goes; so she agrees with the resigned smile that she can’t help but give to anything and everything Kazama might want of her. It would have been fine, too; except that Sumika’s nerves had left her trembling even before she came through the doorway, and when she offered to help make tea the curse of the kitchen had befallen her before Kazama could step in and rescue her. Sumika had poured what felt like the entire contents of the teapot across the front of her dress before the upset could be stopped, and if the stain came out with a quick wash the dress was left too wet to possibly wear in the snow-laden chill of the night outside. She had had to change into the clothes she left at Kazama’s the last time she had a similar cooking-related accident, and if the jeans and blouse fit well enough they’re far from the elegance of the lacy skirt she had intended to wear for the evening.

“It’s fine,” Kazama had soothed, with the weight of fingers sliding through the Sumika’s tied-back hair with enough gentleness that any frustration Sumika was feeling had melted like snowflakes in the glow of a candle. “You look more like my Sumi-chan this way!” That had made Sumika flush crimson, and Kazama’s brother clear his throat with awkward self-consciousness, and Sumika had babbled something incoherent and hurried them out of the house before she could further undo her own expectations for the evening.

She should have known things weren’t going to go smoothly. They missed the train they intended to catch and shivered through the cold waiting for the next; by the time they arrived downtown they were a full half-hour late, and Tomoe’s promise to answer her phone from the karaoke booth she and Miyako reserved for the evening proves to be as hollow as the recording of her voicemail inbox. Sumika tries calling three times, and Kazama twice; and then finally they admit defeat and go to take Kazama’s suggestion to wander the streets instead. That proves more entertaining than Sumika expected; it’s hardly the close intimacy of a karaoke room, to be sure, but most of the shops have heaters placed along the sidewalk to lure passersby with the promise of relief from the chill in the air, and with the bright of Kazama’s laughter and the warmth of the other girl’s hand in her own Sumika finds she doesn’t even notice the dip of the temperature as the sun sinks below the horizon and the cool of night closes in around them.

They make it through the shops eventually, wandering their way through the streets with the backdrop of Kazama’s excitement over bracelets and earrings and skirts to guide them. Sumika has little to offer herself by way of enthusiasm, at least on a personal basis; but she’s happy to follow wherever that hand in hers leads, and when Kazama ducks into the close space of a changing room to try on the weight of a new skirt Sumika is more than willing to take a seat on the bench outside and wait for her. The attendant offers a polite suggestion for her, a dress with a long skirt that reaches past even Sumika’s knees; and it’s in that moment that Kazama emerges from the changing room with her cheeks pink with excitement and the hem of her new skirt fluttering around her legs.

“Ohh, yes, that’s a great idea!” she chirps; and then she’s reaching for Sumika’s hand, and Sumika finds herself being pulled forward in spite of all her intentions to remain a distant observer. “Come on, Sumi-chan, let’s see it on you!” The attendant hands over the dress, Kazama pulls Sumika into the narrow confines of the booth; and then they’re in the space together, with mirrors all around them to throw back their reflections, and Sumika is left to clutch at the weight of the soft fabric in her hands while her heart races with sudden self-consciousness.

“It’s just to try it on,” Kazama says, her voice only marginally softer than it was in the other room. She tips her head up to smile at Sumika; Sumika wonders if Kazama is aware of how bright her eyes look in the forgiving lights of the changing room, wonders if she knows how charming the fall of her golden hair curling against her face is. Kazama reaches up to draw her fingers through her hair and tuck it behind her ear; when she smiles at Sumika the expression is tentative, the curve of her lips soft with shyness. “I think it’ll look good on you.”

“Oh,” Sumika says. This is about the extent of the coherency she can muster, under the present circumstances. “Yeah.” She stands still staring at Kazama in front of her, the weight of the dress in her hands; Kazama gazes back at her for long seconds, her cheeks slowly darkening to pink until she finally ducks her head and clears her throat deliberately.

“Is it too weird to change in front of me?” she asks without lifting her head from behind the fall of her hair. “If it is I could always--”

“ _ Ah _ ,” Sumika blurts, and reaches out to catch Kazama’s hand just shy of touching the handle to the changing room door. “No, no, it’s fine, I’m wearing an undershirt, I don’t care.” A sudden thought occurs to her, enough to bring her hand drawing back from Kazama’s wrist with more speed even than she reached out for it. “Is it...weird for you?”

Kazama huffs a laugh without lifting her head. “Oh, Sumi-chan,” she sighs, in the soft tone that falls somewhere between tolerant and affectionate; and then she lifts her head to smile up at Sumika. “Just try it on.”

Sumika ducks her head in agreement. “Okay,” she says; and then Sumika is reaching out to draw the dress free of her hands, and she’s working to unbutton the line of fastenings down the front of her shirt. It’s easy going with the familiarity of the action, even if Sumika’s heart is beating faster than it should be, and no sooner is she shrugging her shirt down and off her shoulders than Kazama is stepping in with the weight of the dress caught in her hands to pull over Sumika’s head.

“Here,” Kazama says, and Sumika lets her shirt fall so she can reach up and fit her arms through the sleeves of the dress Kazama is offering. The fabric slides over her shoulders, the weight of it falls around her waist and hips, and then Sumika is reaching up to tug her hair free of the neckline while Kazama draws the cloth down to hang smoothly around the other girl’s body. Kazama fusses with it for a moment, her attention fixed on the dress while Sumika’s is fixed on her; and then she steps back and sighs audible satisfaction as she reaches to clasp her hands in front of her.

“There,” she says. “Take a look.”

Sumika does. They’re surrounded by mirrors; all she has to do is shift by a quarter-step in order to see her reflection in one of them. Her attention catches at the unconscious frown of focus at her mouth, and the familiar weight of her hair working itself free of its ponytail to tangle a little around the frames of her glasses; but then the dark sweep of the dress pulls at her gaze, and she’s looking down to consider the way it fits around her. Kazama was right about it; even without much of an eye for her own appearance and her jeans still on underneath the fabric, Sumika can tell that the dress adds a softness to what usually feels like clumsy awkwardness in her. Her shoulders look more relaxed, her hips look a little wider; even the weight of the hem falling past her knees softens some of her usual height into the girlish proportions she so admires in others. She looks softer, prettier, more feminine; and from over her shoulder Kazama sighs warmth, and clasps her hands in front of her in satisfaction.

“There,” she says, sounding deeply pleased with this outcome. “I knew you’d look cute in it.”

Sumika’s gaze jumps up to Kazama’s reflection at once. Kazama is still looking at the dress, her lips curving on an unconscious smile and her whole posture relaxing into satisfaction; Sumika can feel her face heating all the same, can feel her position going awkward with the sudden awareness of her own body.

“You,” she croaks, her voice breaking oddly in the back of her throat. She shuts her mouth hard, swallows harder, tries again. “You think I’m cute?”

Kazama laughs. “Of course,” she says, and then her gaze comes up from the reflection of Sumika’s dress to Sumika’s face. “You’re always cute, Sumi-chan.”

Sumika can feel her entire face glow instantly to crimson, can feel her throat close up on whatever response she might have hoped to give. In the mirror Kazama huffs a laugh, her lips parting on amusement as her own cheeks darken to a delicate pink; but then she catches her lower lip in her teeth, and lifts her hand to push a lock of curling gold behind her ear. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is soft; something in her shoulders eases, some part of her stance giving way to turn her position into an invitation, to pull Sumika’s focus down instead to notice the pale color of Kazama’s blouse, and the set of her feet crossing over each other, and the dip of her elbow as she toys with her hair. She looks shy, soft and embarrassed and a little bit hopeful, and for the span of a breath Sumika can see the invitation as clearly as if Kazama had spoken it aloud.

“Kazama,” she breathes; and then she’s turning away from the mirror, turning back to Kazama next to her, and Kazama is lifting her head to meet Sumika’s gaze, her eyes opening fractionally wider as she looks up, as her lips part. Sumika’s attention slides down Kazama’s face, noting all the details of the other’s girl’s expression and coming up with a single coherent conclusion, and when she takes a half-step in Kazama’s hand falls from her hair and comes out to catch at Sumika’s elbow instead. Kazama’s chin is turning up, and Sumika is tipping forward as fast as she lifts her hand to touch at Kazama’s hair and brace her in place so she can shut her eyes, so she can--

“Excuse me!” The voice is on the other side of the changing room, serving as a forewarning for the knock that raps against the weight of it a moment later; Sumika and Kazama leap apart as if shocked, jerking back from each other to press to opposite sides of the changing room as if the polite tone is an open accusation. “How does the dress look? We have it in other sizes and colors if you’d like!”

“No,” Kazama calls back, in a level tone Sumika is honestly more impressed by than anything else. “No, this one is fine, thank you!” She keeps her head turned until they hear the saleswoman moving away; it’s only then that she looks back to Sumika and flashes a brief smile somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sumika says, in a voice far closer to shrill hysteria than the one Kazama just managed to muster. She reaches for the bottom edge of the dress and tries to pull it up over her head with some measure of the grace Kazama displayed in putting it on her, with complete failure on every point. “I’ll just. I’ll just buy this then.”

“Here,” Kazama says, and then she’s stepping forward and there are gentle hands tugging the hem of the dress out of Sumika’s hold. “Let me.” Sumika relents to give the steering of the dress over to Kazama’s competent hands, and in a very few minutes Kazama is shaking the dress to right-side out while Sumika is turning to get her shirt back on and buttoned up with hands that are proving far less obedient on the complexities of the buttons under her hold than she could wish. It takes her a moment to get them done up -- and then another moment after she realizes she missed one to backtrack and straighten out the line of the shirt -- and by the time she’s ready the dress and Kazama’s skirt are back on their hangers, and the saleswoman has returned to rap against the door again.

“Yes!” Kazama says, and reaches to unlatch the door. “We’d like to buy this one please.” The saleswoman nods in satisfied understanding, and turns to lead the way to the register; Sumika is left to follow in the wake of the other two, still feeling far more flushed and pink than any reasonable explanation can account for. Maybe it’s that that delays her steps in following Kazama and the saleswoman; it’s not until she realizes that Kazama is handing over money that she hisses an inhale and strides forward to join them at the counter.

“Thank you,” Kazama is saying as the saleswoman draws the dress in towards herself to fold it into a neat package before slipping it into a bag. “We very much appreciate your help!”

“Kazama!” Sumika groans as she comes in closer, speaking more softly than usual so the saleswoman can at least pretend to not hear her as she comes in to stand alongside the other girl. “I didn’t mean for you to buy it for me.”

Kazama lifts her hand to wave aside this protest. “Of course you didn’t,” she says with cheerful unconcern. “ _ I _ meant to buy it for you.” She reaches over the counter to take the bag before turning to beam up at Sumika. “I need a Christmas present for you after all, don’t I?”

“Kazama,” Sumika sighs; but Kazama is turning away from the counter, and reaching for her hand, and the only way Sumika can possibly keep arguing the point is to draw her hand free of Kazama’s. Since this option is patently impossible, the only way to proceed is to mumble some similar greeting to Kazama’s “Merry Christmas!” to the shopkeeper as they leave and to allow herself to be led out of the store by Kazama’s hold on her hand.

“I’m going to pay you back,” Sumika says as they step back out onto the cool of the sidewalk.

“Don’t be silly, Sumi-chan,” Kazama says. “You can pay me back by wearing it the next time we go out.” There’s a barely perceptible pause, like the world itself is catching a breath, before she goes on: “On our New Year’s date.”

Sumika stops dead on the sidewalk. Since Kazama still has a hold on her hand this has the effect of drawing the other girl to a halt as well; but Kazama keeps her head tipped down and her attention on the handle of the bag she’s fussing with. All Sumika can see of her is the fall of golden hair shadowing Kazama’s face, and the weight of her scarf falling loose over her shoulders, and the toes of her shoes peeping out from the edge of her skirt. Sumika still thinks Kazama’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Kazama…”

“Ah!” Kazama says, and straightens at once. “That reminds me. Have you heard from the others yet?”

Sumika blinks. “Huh?” she says; but she’s already reaching for her pocket to pull her phone free and check the dark screen for the messages she knows won’t be there. “No, not yet. Do you want me to try calling again?”

“Mmm,” Kazama hums. “No, that’s fine. We can have a perfectly good time on our own!” And she’s darting forward down the street, tipping her head to flash a smile back at Sumika as she tugs at the other’s girl’s hand to urge her forward in her wake. Between the pull of Kazama’s hand and the draw of her smile, Sumika has no delusions about how much choice she has in this matter; so she does the graceful thing, and breaks into a smile of her own before she steps forward to follow Kazama farther down the street.

They’re at the end of the shops, or at least those that are still open in the falling night of Christmas Eve. There are still a few buildings around them, with the dark glass of closed storefronts to speak to the businesses there that will reopen with the morning; but Kazama doesn’t so much as hesitate over them as she pulls Sumika down the sidewalk in her wake. She’s moving fast, like she intends to make up for the lack of heat in the air by the speed of her own movement, and Sumika trails behind her, half-jogging to keep up and with more than half her attention on the path ahead in case Kazama should trip and fall over some uneven pavement. She’s ready to throw out a hand to catch Kazama’s elbow or even at the back of her coat collar, if necessary, to save them from the unpleasantness of a tumble; but Kazama keeps her feet under her in spite of the ice-slick of the sidewalk, and by the time they’re clearing the edge of downtown and coming up to the corner of a snow-dusted park the worst of Sumika’s concern has eased to leave her smiling as wide as Kazama when the other girl looks over her shoulder to beam at her. Kazama’s footsteps slow, her forward motion gives way to a stop as she turns back towards Sumika, and Sumika steps forward to follow, letting her own half-jog ease to stillness in answer to Kazama’s guidance.

“This is fun,” Kazama declares without any hesitating self-consciousness on the words. “I’ve never had a proper Christmas date before.”

Sumika can feel her cheeks warm in spite of the chill in the air, can feel the heat of almost-embarrassment starting under her skin; but she holds Kazama’s gaze all the same, meeting the other girl’s attention in spite of her own shoulder-hunching shyness. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way I had planned.”

Kazama shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I think it’s better this way.” She ducks her head for a moment; a lock of hair falls alongside her face as she bites at her lip as if to hold back a smile. “It’s more romantic to be a little spontaneous.”

Sumika is very definitely blushing, now. The heat crests up from the tension in her chest and the flutter of adrenaline in her stomach; she thinks she must be cherry-red to anyone who’s looking at her. But Kazama has her head ducked down, and Sumika is looking at Kazama; and in the back of her head, the little voice that has been pressing her forward all day is whispering a suggestion, is murmuring that maybe this is the chance she’s been hoping for all evening. Sumika takes a breath, feeling the bite of the air in her lungs like it’s bracing her in place, like she’s adopting a stance for an attack far more physical than the approach she intends. “Kazama…”

“Sumi-chan,” Kazama says, and lifts her head at once. She’s flushed too, Sumika can see, her cheeks glowing with a pink more than what the cold alone can account for; but her shoulders are set, and her gaze is clear, as if she’s as determined to see this through as Sumika herself is. They stare at each other for a moment, Sumika’s heart pounding and Kazama’s gaze fixed; and then, just as Sumika is taking a breath to act:

_ Boom!  _ The explosion is startling against the quiet of the night; with how tense Sumika feels, it’s enough to make her jump as she turns to look towards it, feeling vaguely as if she’s being attacked for her as-yet-incomplete action. Kazama gasps aloud, and reaches out to clutch at Sumika’s arm to steady herself; but it’s Kazama who makes sense of it first, who huffs a laugh warm with delight and lifts a hand to gesture towards the park next to them.

“Oh, look!” as a burst of light sparkles through the air, red and green together glittering like artificial stars against the dark of the winter sky. “Fireworks!”

“Jeez,” Sumika breathes. “That startled me.” But she’s smiling too, happiness urged on by the press of relief in her chest and by the delight in Kazama’s voice, and when the next burst of light illuminates the sky Kazama clutches at Sumika’s sleeve with unthinking delight.

“Oh wow,” she breathes. “What good luck for us!”

Sumika looks down at Kazama in front of her. Kazama’s head is turned away, her eyes are fixed on the brilliance of the spectacle breaking over the park; in the dark around them her face is lit by the shifting colors of the fireworks as much as by the distant glow of the streetlights. There’s a smile on her face, a shine of unmitigated delight in her eyes; she’s not blushing, not nervous, not showing any of the signs of self-consciousness that she and Sumika have been passing back and forth between each other for the whole of the evening. She’s just herself, wide-eyed and smiling and Sumika’s best friend, Sumika’s first love; and Sumika takes a breath and ducks forward before she can overthink herself to stillness. Kazama’s head is still turned, her attention is still fixed on the lights over the park as Sumika comes in; and so when Sumika’s mouth touches hers it’s just at the corner, the weight of the kiss landing at the tension of Kazama’s smile rather than properly on her lips. Sumika lingers there for a moment, feeling Kazama’s mouth go soft with surprise, feeling her own chest glow radiant with heat; and then she draws back, slow, letting the contact linger as long as she can before she pulls away and blinks down at Kazama before her.

There’s a pause. Kazama’s head is still turned, her eyes are still fixed on the glow of the fireworks; but there’s a distance to her gaze now, a distraction that says she’s not really seeing the lights before her even before she takes a breath to speak.

“Sumi-chan,” she says. Her voice is very soft; Sumika can still hear it with absolute clarity, as if there’s nothing else in the night but the two of them.

Sumika swallows hard. Her throat feels tense, her voice feels strange. “Yeah.”

Kazama ducks her head, looking down at the sidewalk before them instead of up at Sumika. “That isn’t very fair of you,” she says. “You really should give me a little warning before my very first kiss.”

Sumika blinks hard. Her eyes are hot as if with tears; she isn’t sure if it’s laughter or a sob in the back of her throat. “Yeah,” she says. “Sorry.”

“You’ll have to give me another chance,” Kazama says down to the sidewalk; and then she lifts her head, and turns the full bright of her eyes up to Sumika in front of her. “I want a do-over.”

The strain in Sumika’s throat breaks free; even as she exhales she can’t tell what the sound is, except tension too tight-wound to be held back to anything coherent, to be anything more than the too-much emotion it is. She ducks her head in a nod and lifts her hand from Kazama’s arm to rub against the damp at her lashes behind her glasses. “Okay,” she says; and then Kazama’s hand is coming up to press at the back of her neck, and Kazama is rising up onto her tiptoes, and Kazama’s mouth is pressing full against the part of Sumika’s lips. Sumika freezes, her hand still at her eyes and her whole action stalled still by surprise; and then Kazama shifts her hand, and tips her head, and Sumika lets her hand fall, and lets her fingers stretch out to touch against the weight of Kazama’s jacket and the dip of the other girl’s waist. Her ears are ringing, her heart is pounding; but Kazama’s lips are warm against hers, and Kazama’s fingers are bracing steady at the back of her neck, and Sumika can’t think of anything she wants more. She keeps her eyes open for a moment to see the close-up detail of Kazama’s lashes, and the flakes of snow just catching into the other girl’s hair; and then there’s another burst of a firework over the park, and Sumika shuts her eyes and lets her attention give way to the warmth radiating out from her chest to glow to brilliance in every inch of her body.

Even with her eyes shut, she can see the sparkle of fireworks.


End file.
